Book One: The Dawning Of A New Age
by proxydreamer
Summary: In 2143 Galactic Standard, the Quarian Conclave decides to venture forth into uncharted space to look for better opportunities for the species. They did not consider encountering another civilization. There is a larger galaxy out there, greater powers to be met and ancient truths to be uncovered.
1. contact 1

**Migrant Star Ship – Yaska**

 _Canrum_ -class cruiser

unknown system

Galactic Standard 2nd Month, 27th Day, 2143

Admiral Farr'Zorah of the MSS _Yaska_ stood on the bridge of his ship, hands clutched tightly behind his back as the redshift in his vision vanished and the universe in front of him regained clarity. His eyes were trained forward and before him, the consoles and the instruments of the vessel whined and buzzed while its crew maintained diligence in their actions and quiet in their steps. Further, beyond even them, a trillion stars sparkled, twinkling against the great dark of space. Among the lights, there lay the salvation of the quarian people just waiting to be discovered and claimed as theirs. Behind the _Yaska_ , the Migrant Fleet, all fifty-thousand ships appeared suddenly, flashes of blue light erupting behind them and dissipating. It was only after an hour or so that all ships were accounted for.

 _Beyond the stars_ , an ancient philosopher once said, _we shall find home._

Statistics from the Patrol and Civilian Fleets had reported that within a few decades, the Liveships, the heart of the Flotilla, would suffer from irreversible structural failures—even now, it could be seen that the rusting of the _Rayya's_ seaboard hull could not be fixed without replacing the entire chassis, which was too costly and impossible considering the current resources they had. And the Hierarchy would see it as uncalled-for-militarization and be given Council approval to scour their ships. No, they would not be subjected to their prejudice ever again. The people will find their own destiny in the unknown, in uncharted space away from the Citadel, they would not become the vermin that they were vilified as.

"Let us proceed as planned," echoed the admiral's voice across the bridge. Then, the Flotilla lumbered silently after them through the silence of space, only the low roaring of fifty-thousand ships breaking the stillness. The _Yaska_ , being the admiral of the Patrol Fleet's home-vessel, had been chosen to be the first quarian ship to brave the uncertain, to spearhead the charge towards its people's triumph! _The quarians would rise again._ Farr'Zorah would see to it for his wife, for his children, for his people. _The quarians would rise again._

"How are the long-range scanners doing?"

"We've increased our range, certainly sir"–the sensor-officer continued tapping on his console–"but the Special Projects techs had to downgrade much of the detail-scans. We can scan farther and wider, but the VI's won't know what gets pinged."

"Understandable."

And the Flotilla moved, tens of thousands of ships groaning forward like a great, indomitable—but wounded—beast.

* * *

 **Citadel Tower, Presidium**

Seat of Galactic Power – Citadel

Widow System, Serpent Nebula

Galactic Standard 3rd Month, 1st Day, 2143

Tevos L'Driani walked up, with her aide following close behind, the steps that led to the upper atriums of the Tower. In the lower rooms, in the Petitioner's Stage, the minor politicians, the heads of several intelligence agencies and the occasional ambassador all scrambled to get to potential sources of information. It had been three days now since the report of the Migrant Fleet vanishing was leaked to the general public. It had only led to small outcry from some turian groups, but it had gained intense traction after several extremist groups, both from the left and the right, had stoked the flames, putting out conspiracies one after the other, with the one gaining the most interest suggesting that the quarians had allied themselves with the geth and had surrendered their bodies for mechanical vessels to one day scourge the entire galaxy. There was even a variation that had the rachni having been secretly cloned by the geth and the krogans mutating complete resistance against the genophage.

As the representative of the asari on the Council, she had been Councilor the longest and had even been part of the Council that revoked the quarians' status as an associate race of the Citadel, kicking them out of their embassy and essentially condemning an entire species to the road of extinction. It had been seen at the time that they had to be made the sacrificial _falar_ to dissuade any enterprising individuals or groups from researching more into the creation of artificial intelligences. It was a cruel punishment, but it had to be done. In the following decades after that, she had thought about raising the issue of reversing the ruling but there had not been any value nor reason in doing it, especially when it was a boon for the early leaders of the Hierarchy that dextro worlds didn't have to be contested.

The doors to the Council Chamber, the true heart of galactic power, slid open with a hiss when both asari neared. The chamber was small and sparsely decorated, a large round table, surface gleaming, standing at the center and taking up a fifth of the space in the room. The seats were simple in design and there were three around the table, one for each Councilor; aides had to stand up for the duration of the deliberation which could take upwards of half-a-day and longer. Idern, the salarian Councilor, was already seated, his beady-black eyes trained on the holo-screen of his omni-tool while Sparatus, the newly assigned turian Councilor, stood near the windows, overlooking the distinctly violet glow of the Serpent Nebula's dust clouds.

"Fellow Councilors." Tevos strode in, gesturing for her aide to leave the room while she sat in her chair. There was a data-pad on her side of the table and a small, triangular console. She pressed a series of buttons on it and the windows of the room, and its door, closed automatically, the sound of a long beep signaling that they had been locked as well. "What do we know about the quarian disappearance?" she asked to no-one in particular.

"Nothing." Idern put down his omni-tool and let out a sigh. "STG lacks information. Could not find anything of import. Last known area quarians spotted near Terminus. Sent operatives there, but couldn't find anything. Save for what the quarians purchased: raw materials for ships, medicine, batteries, food with long shelf-lives. If not wrong, quarians going somewhere…"

Sparatus took his seat, steepling his fingers in front of him, elbows planted on the table. The white markings on his face marked him as Citadel-born, though he was Palavenii by blood. "I have to agree with Councilor Idern. From what reports and scans Hierarchy Intelligence had on what of their ships, the Migrant Fleet seems to be in a propelled state of decay." His mandibles flared as he breathed through his mouth. "We calculated that given their propensity for dragging themselves across the galaxy and the severe lack of resources they have while doing so, their ships would fail; the most alarming are their Liveships which are there most vulnerable and most important vessels."

"So, the both of you think that the quarians are retreating to unknown space? That is insane." Tevos was unconvinced. There was nothing out there in the vastness of space, save for what was already here. Sure, there could be more worlds out there, but would a species, even on the brink of extinction, risk it all for something chance that wasn't even a certainty?

Sparatus looked at her and shook his head, head fringes moving slightly. "Of course, they would. This Council condemned an entire species to a life wandering the stars. What else can they do than to wander further when they have no other option?"

Tevos raised her brow at that. "What are you trying to imply, Councilor?" She had not thought the turian would sympathize with the quarians. It had been many years that she'd been governing the galaxy, longer than anyone in this room, or in the entire Citadel; and still, she did not truly understand most of her charge—she could guess, but never comprehend. Short-lived species could never see the bigger picture.

The turian's mandibles twitched. "The quarians should have never been cast out because of the actions of their forebears. We are the Council, guardians of the galaxy, not its executioners."

"How dare—"

"As much as I'd like to see the both of you argue over ethical and philosophical standards,"–Idern's eyes flitted between his two contemporaries–"we still have more tangible matters to attend to. Terminus warlords getting afraid of disappearance as well. Don't know what to do. Few believe in the conspiracy theories, but a few can still inflict severe damage if they, deferring to a krogan idiom, grow a quad and attack the geth out of fear-addled thoughts…"

Tevos nodded, so did Sparatus.

"What do you propose we do?" the asari asked.

The salarian swiped the haptic interface of his omni-tool and enlarged the several holo-screens he had present, so they all could be seen by his fellow Councilors. His horns seemed to curl inwards. "Initial phase, we send in a cadre—three, five, perhaps seven members?—of Spectres to the Terminus Systems, have them divide themselves. Second phase, some will go to the most powerful warlords and convince them that geth and quarian alliance impossible, others will search for the quarians around cluster where they were last spotted."

The turian had a brow raised, fingers drumming the edge of the table. "How do you suppose they can persuade Terminus warlords?"

"Methods irrelevant, Sparatus. Needed are results, nothing else."

Tevos spoke before the turian could speak his mind: "Do not be hasty with your proclamations, Idern. It would do no good if the hands of the Council were covered in blood." She nodded to the young Councilor; it was rather just a string of words. Spectres could and would do whatever was needed for the safety of the Citadel. Sparatus would know sooner or later.

The salarian rolled his black eyes and resumed looking at his omni-tool. "If blindness necessity, then please continue. I've also sent for STG equipment to be used by Spectres. Quarian disappearance trifling in short-term but will become troubling long-term. Could do anything within span of time not found. Create another synthetic menace perhaps?"

Sparatus's head-spines seemed to undulate slightly, a sign of irritation and frustration. His mandibles squeezed tight. "Who're the personnel needed in this task?"

"We've all our own lists," Idern said, his omni-tool dimming, "so propose we go through each and every one of our proposals."

"Agreed." Tevos sighed, bringing up her own omni-tool.

The turian's own device lit up. "Very well."

* * *

 **Migrant Star Ship – Yaska**

 _Canrum_ -class cruiser

unknown system

Galactic Standard 3rd Month, 5th Day, 2143

The Migrant Fleet had passed through several uninhabited systems; they had found many livable planets, only a single one was dextro-based. It had pained the Admiralty Board, together with the majority of the Conclave, to leave it. But the system it was in was too close, too likely for a Council Expeditionary Fleet to stumble upon and bomb them off their new home. They were a thousand light-years away from the nearest mass relay. It was either go back now to return wallowing around the galaxy, or trudge on through and leave it all to fate.

Farr'Zorah, as the captain of the _Yaska_ , stood before a console screen, representing the people of his ship. On the screen was the scene of the _Rayya's_ core-tree—every Liveship had one—Tikkun's Princely Child, the oldest rannochai that existed outside of Rannoch, standing majestically under artificial light, its labyrinthine roots snaking across the expansive room. It was the symbol of the people's dreams; it was the symbol of their steadfastness and perseverance. The ancient _Jaya_ tree had been old when the people had first left the planet, transplanted from the Korraya, the seat of power during the people's reign on the planet, to the _Rayya_ when the geth had taken over the planet's largest military compound. All across the Flotilla, each captain would be graced with the same image. Beneath the _Jaya's_ three-pronged leaves, the captain of the _Rayya_ , Zoli'Danna, stood, her grey suit and headpiece lit by a thousand tiny screens projected from her activated omni-tool.

What options the Flotilla had would decide the fate of the people, irreversible and immensely consequential. If they returned to where they came, the Council would never let them continue their endless trek across space unwatched and unguarded, a turian patrol would be specifically tasked with keeping track of them and every Pilgrim would fear every step they took. If they did not, what happened next was out of their hands. When they had reached the current system, the Civilian Fleet Admiral, Kal'Raan vas Tonbay, had immediately requested for the Conclave to convene to vote on the motion of continuing or not.

"We're all aware why we are here." Zoli'Danna was not an admiral—the Dannas had relinquished the opportunity to become one since the Migrant Fleet began—but being captain of a Liveship gave her words tremendous weight. Back in Rannoch, the Dannas were the ruling political family; the people had become democratic by then, but it was the Dannas that held true power. And it was in their rule that the geth ousted them from their home, so their Ancestors vowed that never should their line be blinded by the pull of power and the veil of greed. Mere sophistry when one considered that the captains of all three Liveships were always of Clan Danna.

"We are on the precipice of great change, a turning of worlds and stars, or a return to a despondent lifestyle…In the third month of the galactic year 2143, the Conclave decides on the fates of 17-million souls. It is assumed that all captains present in this convention are knowledgeable about the facts and the arguments that we have heard and poured through in the last session… where we decided that we had to travel to unchartered space for the continued survival of our race.

"Now, it has come to the attention of the entire quarian people that what we shall do"–her gaze fixed on a single camera-drone–"is irreversible. That is true, but what options do we have? The Migrant Fleet is dying, we, with what we currently have, cannot circumvent that. Should we turn back and let the entire Citadel, who have abandoned us, witness our extinction? Or shall we continue on with our present course and hope to find our salvation? The Conclave begins its vote on the motion of returning to chartered space…"

Although the good captain's stare was static on the screen, Farr'Zorah knew that every captain present in this Conclave felt her eyes on them, felt them as they decided on their vote. He already knew his choice and his breather sang soft and quiet. He would not succumb to the temptation, for if he had—what else was there, but to wait for the end to pass?

In the third month of the galactic year 2143, the Quarian Conclave voted 44,343-to-6,874 and continued on deeper towards unknown space.

* * *

 **Migrant Star Ship – Uriyah**

 _Quadim_ -class corvette

unknown system

Galactic Standard 3rd Month, 12th Day, 2143

Captain Adan'Nara had been one of the individuals who voted against continued excursion towards the unknown. And though he did that, he would not go against the ruling. His duty was to the people, no-one else. If their Ancestors wished them to traverse the unknown, then, they will traverse the unknown with the people on their backs.

The bridge of the _Uriyah_ was larger than most corvettes of the same size. It had originally been used for survey expeditions in the Attican Traverse back when a Council Expeditionary mission had discovered an ancient Prothean star-chart related to a particular section of the Traverse that supposedly held numerous garden-worlds. At the center of the CIC was a communications node, a projector for important feeds from probes, comm-responses or sent media.

The captain looked around and stopped to gaze through the viewing deck where a red dust cloud spiraled behind a terrestrial world and a gas giant, its many moons orbiting around it like a crown of spheres. The sun was a normal red giant, four planets, two that were inhabitable—one in the farthest edge and the other the one nearest the sun. "Hilar, what is the ETA on the jump to the next sys—" There was… a fluctuation in the space in front of them, like something trying to pierce through a bubble. _Keelah_. He felt an undulation running along his entire body.

Everyone in the bridge stood up and stared at what was happening.

"What in the Ancestors…" someone said, releasing a beeping breath.

Then, something unimaginable happened—the very fabric of space burst apart and a single ship emerged from out of nowhere, the tearing or reality behind it quickly mending itself as if nothing ever happened. The ship in question was enormous. _Keelah_ , it was larger than most of the ships in the Flotilla! It was shaped like a spindle and colored a distinct gold but had evenly spaced grey protrusions sticking out along its 'spine' that had glowing etches. There were no visible thrusters or engines on it, and, to Adan'Nara, it did not seem to have any weapons…

"Give me any readings on that ship, immediately!" The captain's voice echoed through the bridge, snapping everyone out of their daze as they hurriedly scrambled to resume their posts.

"Cross-referencing showed no matches, captain," the sensor-operator said. "Not even from the Terminus database. I think this is First Contact, captain. And…" The young man tapped on his console and his voice dropped into disbelief. "No trace of eezo, no gravitational wells nor discrepancies in dark energy levels around the ship; not even radiation in any form we know..."

There was a silence in the entire bridge as everyone struggled to make sense of the operator's words.

"Perhaps they're salarians trying out an experimental method of F-T-L?" Adan'Nara was aware his words were grasping at nothing. Opportunities of First Contact were too thin and although the chances got larger in the unknown of space, he still did not want to think they were so fortunate.

"I have to agree, captain." The XO, Hera'Hodda, stood beside Adan'Nara. "This far into unchartered space? No way we'd bump into a Citadel species, salarian or not. Then there's the no eezo—Citadel tech is _heavily_ reliant on eezo that I don't really think anyone can come up with some alternative; and as much as I like to think otherwise, with the size of those ships and that weird 'teleportation' that just happened, I think it's not a species that's just achieved spaceflight. Could be a fully-fledged stellar civilization."

Her words rumbled across everyone, giving rise to murmurs and whispers.

Adan'Nara shook his head, wringing his hands quietly. He sighed. "All signs lead to that, yes. Even the turians had a two-thousand-year-old empire before they went on the galactic stage. Who's to say there aren't others like them? Do not do anything hasty. I will _not_ be responsible for an Ancestors-damned war with a new species. Am I clear?"

"Captain, unknown frequencies are trying to hail us," the comm-link officer said. "It's the aliens most likely. There's no-one else here but us… should I pass it through?"

"Let"–the captain of the _Uriyah_ straightened himself, trying to look regal, diplomatic. _Keelah_ , he hoped the aliens were not like the krogan–"them through."

In the main console of the bridge, a holo-screen flared to life, giving a visual feed from the unknown ship, revealing the face of the sentients. Or lack thereof. There was only one specimen, but like them: it had a headpiece that covered its entire faces and a gleaming black suit with orange trim. There were tubes lining the side of its head coiling around it, a telltale sign of a species that breathed a chemical mixture different from the rest of the galaxy. It was stocky and short, not unlike a volus, with a large protrusion behind its back. Where eyes should be: were orange-tinted glasses, blue fire flashing from behind.

"A volus?" whispered Hera from beside.

The alien brought up a small, chubby finger and pointed to itself, speaking through its mouthpiece—voice deep and gravelly. "Tortollan. Tohr-Toh-Lahn." Then, it brought back its hand down and the sound of buttons tapping could be heard.

The quarian's main console let out a beep, receiving a file. Adan'Nara was confused for a bit and looked back to the alien who had its head tilted, fingers waving towards him. "Open the message," he told the comm-link officer.

"Are you sure about this, captain?"

"As sure as the Ancestors can be…"

There were a few minutes of silence as the officer struggled to link their computers with the alien file. The alien at the screen was just patiently watching them and Adan'Nara examined the interior of the ship behind the volus-like sentient. It was painted un the same way as its suit; there was no-one else that could be seen from the feed but with a ship of that size, he heavily doubted there was only one individual in the entire vessel. There were strange slivers of blue light running along the walls and ceiling of the ship, and now that he noticed it, he found that the alien was lit up by an otherworldly glow from his console.

"Finally got it." The comm-link officer activated the file and a large holo-screen opened from the central communications node at the center of the bridge.

Everyone present gathered there to see what the alien had sent.

The lights inside the node lit up in sequence and the hologram of a large garden-world was shown, vibrant blue oceans covering nearly all of the planet and thick greenish clouds hovering over it like the shadow of a fleet of dreadnoughts. There were eight moons in total orbiting the world, none reaching a quarter of their planet's size. Then, "TORTOLLA", a disembodied voice spoke. "TOHR-TOH-LAH," it repeated, slowly.

"It must be the alien's homeworld," a junior officer said in a hush.

Adan'Nara looked at the world, remembering Rannoch. "It is beautiful…" It was by misfortune that they had lost theirs. _That was why they were here_ , he remembered, _to claim another home for themselves._

Then, the image of the Tortolla vanished, replaced by two squat figures of green-skinned reptilian quarianoids. _Must be what they look like beneath their suits._ They both had blocky limbs, arms covered in small scales and legs that were shorter than the arms. Like them, they had two fingers and a thumb on each hand. Thick dermal plating grew in the shape of ancient iron shields that encompassed the entire back of the sentient; on the front was a similar, smaller growth with lighter coloring that stretched from their chests to their lower regions. Their heads were triangular in shape but rounded at the corners; their eyes were large and beady but vivid with color. _They look like little krogans. But softer-looking._

And another voice said: "Tortollan. TOHR-TOH-LAHN."

Adan'Nara scratched his chin, the haptic sims beneath his suit mimicking the feel of his fingers on his bare skin. "Totolla…" The word slid off his mouthpiece. "Tortollin—Tortollan." He nodded to himself, slightly pleased. "Tortollan. Tortollan. Tortollan."

Behind him, the others followed, the addition of a new word in their vocabularies, exciting and fresh.

Then, the image shifted again. Now, it was to another planet. Adan'Nara knew it to be the one nearest the sun. It was a dark world with a desert banding around the equator on the only continent; it was only near the poles did vegetation thrive. There was no satellite around the world. Next, a small holographic model of the _Uriyah_ appeared over the new planet. What followed was a model of the tortollan ship and he saw a clearer scope for the alien ship's size. It was easily six times their ship in comparison. The alien ship landed first on the surface of the planet, on its northernmost pole; then, theirs followed after.

After a few seconds more, the hologram vanished.

"It seems that they want us to meet with them on the planet," said Hera'Hodda.

"I can see that clearly," replied Adan'Nara, looking out the windows at the large alien vessel floating in front of them. It shuddered slightly; then it lurched forward, moving towards the planet that had been designated as the first point of communications. "They're serious, at the least…"

"How do we approach this, captain?"

Adan'Nara sighed, a beep exhaling out of his mouthpiece. "Send a missive to the Admiralty Board and prepare for First Contact. We're heading in immediately, people!"

FIN


	2. contact 2

**Seraphim**

Spirit _M38_ – Space Shuttle

unknown system

Galactic Standard 3rd Month, 12th Day, 2143

The asari shuttle shook slightly as the atmosphere wracked its weak kinetic barriers to and fro, shaking the vehicle as if it were just a toy in the hands of a child. It was an old model, bought from a wily volus in the outskirts of Korlus's home-system. Although still comfortable and sleek as everything asari-made was, even with the little dents in the hull and the rusting in the interior. The _Seraphim_ flew over the planet's equatorial desert, reaching the green edges of the poles quickly. As they climbed over a mountain, the frame of the alien vessel could be seen, clouded in the distance. It was larger than Adan'Nara had remembered it being. In a word, it was _monolithic_. Like a mountain come to life and possessing the ability to cross the galaxy.

Beeps sounded off from a fleet marine's mouthpiece. " _Keelah_ , the amount of eezo it must be using."

"Sensors already say there's no eezo anywhere on the ship, Hiram." Hera'Hodda, like everyone else inside the vehicle, looked at the ship looming before them.

"So? Might be our sensors are too primitive compared to theirs."

Adan'Nara tipped his head slightly. The marine had a point. These tiny people could very well be remnants of the Protheans, for all they knew about the illusive precursor civilization. But, they were not here to confirm silly conspiracy theories; they were here for the future of the people.

"Ready for landing, Hilar?" asked the captain of the _Uriyah_. Adan'Nara saw the aliens at the foot of a mountain larger than the one they had scaled from. There, the tortollans had set-up a large, marble table, complete with chairs around it. There were the silhouettes of four aliens milling about on one side of the table, lifting rocks and whatnot and placing them away from the meeting place.

"Yes, captain," replied the pilot, bringing the shuttle downwards.

* * *

 **unknown locale**

first planet from the sun

unknown system

Galactic Standard 3rd Month, 12th Day, 2143

The _Seraphim_ settled down near the aliens, its thrusters emitting low, buzzing noises as it landed gently by a grassy slope. Disciplined and nervous, they filed out of the vehicle. There were five of them, an individual more than the alien party. Slight numerical advantage if things went like a punctured suit. Adan'Nara, the captain and principal diplomat; Hera'Hodda, the captain's aide; Hiram'Reegar and Lia'Jaa, bodyguards and members of the Migrant Fleet Marines; and Hilar'Koris, the pilot. They were in formation—the two bodyguards flanking the captain, the others behind him—as they approached the short sentients.

"They're as short as the volus." A beep escaped from Lia'Jaa despite cupping her breather with one hand. "You may not even need us," she said after a brief moment.

Hiram'Reegar suppressed a laugh.

"Height means nothing if you've got a ship that size." Hilar'Koris jerked his head towards the supersized dreadnought drifting ominously over the mountains. The aliens had been respectful enough that they had their ship hovering several kilometers away. But one could not help but feel that such a gesture was quite useless when taken into account how the _Uriyah_ had met the Ancestors-damned vessel. "And besides have you ever met a volus Spectre?"

After a pause, she said, "There isn't a volus Spectre…"

The pilot laughed, shaking his head. "Exactly the point. They're that good."

Hiram'Reegar could now take a good look at the aliens and found that they quite resembled the volus, not just in shape and form, but also in movement: lumbering and with a peculiar bounce to their step. He even waited for a moment to see if one of them would sell them cheap starship parts and frowning when they did not. Examining the aliens, he found that none of them were holding weapons of any sort that he could recognize. _Unknown variable, weapons could be concealed within environment, or they've released some sort of airborne agent?_

Adan'Nara stopped and gestured for the other quarians to follow. He turned to them. "Reegar and Jaa, you two, have your weapons holstered. We don't want them to get spooked when they see us bringing weapons to what is ultimately a diplomatic meeting."

Hiram'Reegar found the idea of the aliens getting spooked absurd. "But, captain, they—"

"Do you see anything that could be a gun in their hands, Hiram?" Adan'Nara waved a hand towards the stocky aliens, who were now waving at them rather enthusiastically. "They were thoughtful enough not to have their huge ship flying over us; the best we can do is to respond in kind."

Hiram'Reegar immediately stiffened and saw that Lia'Jaa's stance was similar, with weapons brought close to her chest and slow beeps oozing out of her mouthpiece. _What purpose did they have if they could not defend their captain?_

Hiram'Reegar twisted his head, turning it to the cliffs and the slopes surrounding them. "They could still shoot us from somewhere, captain." His voice was a hissed whisper.

"Then, we'll have to risk it." Adan'Nara stared at them, eyes glowing fiercer behind a tinted mask; and they stood down. "I am aware that it sounds reckless, immensely so, but we have to do it. We do not know what capabilities these aliens have. What we do know is that they have a ship with no signs of eezo anywhere near it that is larger than most of our ships, and one that can utilize an odd method of F-T-L travel. The Migrant Fleet has already risked the existence of our entire species trying to traverse the unknown, one more won't hurt us."

Hiram'Reegar grinded his teeth and nodded stiffly. "Of course, captain." He hefted the rifle in his hands and activated the mag-buckle in his back, letting the gun attach itself to it.

Lia'Jaa did the same. "Have the Ancestors made the captain mad?" she asked him when Adan'Nara turned around to walk towards the table.

He did not answer and merely followed his captain.

Hera'Hodda shifted uncomfortably underneath the table. Ironic, considering the comfort of the seat she was in—like it had been made for a species with digitigrade legs like theirs. The aliens had gestured for their party to sit at the chairs they had prepared, even to Hiram'Reegar and Lia'Jaa, the clearly armed bodyguards.

On one side were the five quarians and on the other were the four tortollans. It had been a good minute of silence since they sat down.

The alien leader—noted by it being the one who had spoken to them in orbit—then held up one finger and traced a circle on the table. Curiously, a projection of a circle was made. The alien gestured towards it; and it stood up, expanding in size until it was levelled to the quarians' line-of-vision.

The circle rotated until an image of another alien (one that was distinctly not tortollan) appeared. It reminded Hera'Hodda of a salarian, a species of amphibian descent, glossy, gray skin; but this species lacked the two curving horns on salarian scalps and had a larger head, numerous fringes that lined the middle of its forehead and rows of sharp, serrated teeth inside a gaping mouth. Its eyes were yellow in color and had black rectangular irises. The new alien seemed to be appraising them.

 _What an odd form of communication. I wonder how they did it? Elaborate light-play? Hard-light manipulation?_ Then, she realized why it was staring. She elbowed Adan'Nara below the table, jerking her head slightly towards the other alien.

The Ancestors had given the captain a good brain because, quickly, he responded: " _Keelah se'lai_ , friend,"–he bowed deeply as he could from where he sat–"I am Captain Adan'Nara vas Uriyah. We of the Migrant Fleet have travelled unimaginable distances to where we are right now. We only seek shelter from a home lost, and we would be obliged if you could offer us guidance and, perhaps, help within the bounds of this part of space…"

Hera'Hodda knew it was only formalities, seeing as there wasn't a working translator between the two species; but they had to talk to the aliens, at the least, and stall for time until the Admiralty Board arrived. "We are called the quarian people," she said. "We come from the world of Rannoch. We have been condemned to walk the stars—expelled from our home by machine intelligences that we had unwittingly made sentient."

"Upon fifty-thousand ships, decrepit and dying, we made ourselves home," Hilar'Koris continued, "and for three centuries, three lifetimes for our species, we have roamed space and the darkness, and we find ourselves here, a species eking out an existence among broken houses, on the verge of extinction. We implore you: please grant us aid, or safe passage through your territories…"

The salarian-like alien nodded and there was a brief quiet.

"Thank you," it said, in Khelish, after a moment, and there was a stunned surprise among the quarians. "Do not be alarmed that I can speak your language; the moment you first spoke: a _shgaraksh_ —translation software had been hard at work breaking down your speech and compare it with all of our known languages. We've more than fifty, _gogolshash_ —official languages in this quadrant of the galaxy and several million dialects, you see. Khelish, your language, is structurally similar to Draenei and Darnassian… an interesting, _araghsh_ … connect. Perhaps, the scholars of Dalaran and the Bronzebeard Society will be most pleased by your welcome.

"But enough of that, I am Grand-Provost Krokgil Murglkrat of the Imperial Senate; I am of the murloc species. I have it in me the _lurgshosh_ , authority, to grant you welcome to our territories, but it would require the presence of the quarian… _jelegshal_ , leadership to forge out a proper agreement between our two civilizations.

"I shall prepare a delegation immediately to meet with your leaders in person. So, for now, you may speak with the tortollans who first met you and I bid you farewell." And the murloc's image vanished from the circle, and the circle itself reverted into a tracing on the table.

Adan'Nara's breather beeped long and loud, a deep sigh. "That was suit-rattling."

"It was," agreed Hera'Hodda. "But what did the morgil—murloc—mean about Khelish being similar to one of their languages?"

"I do not know." The captain shook his head, then turned to his pilot. "Hilar, can you contact the Admiralty Board?"

"I can."

* * *

 **Migrant Star Ship – Rayya**

 _Rannoch_ -class Liveship

unknown system

Galactic Standard 3rd Month, 13th Day, 2143

Zoli'Danna sat in her office inside the massive, labyrinthine frame of the _Rayya_. The room was larger than what most quarians had for living space—a benefit of being the captain of one of the only three Liveships. She drummed her fingers on her ancient desk while she waited for the holograms of the rest of the admirals to appear. The holograms of her siblings, Han'Danna vas Shellen and Eva'Danna vas Korrom, together with the holograms of the Admirals Farr'Zorah vas Yaska and Kal'Raan vas Qwib-Qwib of the Patrol and Civilian Fleets respectively, were already on stand-by, waiting with her for the others. Ten minutes followed after as Admiral Mara'Vael vas Neema of the Heavy Fleet, Jeelo'Xen vas Terminus of Special Projects and Fleet Admiral Vanir'Reegar vas Tikkun appeared. In that order.

"Is there any possibility of this being a Council trap?" Jeelo'Xen was a most paranoid individual. Apt, considering his many run-ins with STG and Spectre elements.

The other admirals, as well as Zoli'Danna and her two siblings, stared briefly at their colleague.

"That is unlikely, Jeelo." Mara'Vael's hologram adjusted her prosthetic. She had lost her entire right arm to escape slavery in the Eternal City in Khar'shan, the only non-Spectre to have done so. "A Council vessel with dreadnought-tonnage slithering deep into the Traverse would alarm Terminus warlords immediately. I truly believe that we are encountering a new species or, from the reports of Captain Adan, an interstellar polity not unlike the Citadel."

Everyone shifted slightly as if their entire bodies were frowning. Interstellar polities were something they had no positive experiences with.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Kal'Raan said. "Another Citadel, another Council. We don't know their policies, their stances on anything. And there's also the troubling detail of them creating a working translator mid-conversation. I find that highly impossible, and it suggests, perhaps, the workings of… Artificial Intelligences. We should have our people leave the planet. Immediately."

"And what next?" asked Farr'Zorah, the most vocal out of all the admirals on diving deep into the unknown. "We return to Citadel space like a beaten varren and resume our Ancestors-damned existence, scrounging for scraps from an uncaring galaxy?"

The Admiral of the Civilian Fleet glared at his Patrol Fleet counterpart. They had been friends once, but ideological differences had created an unbridgeable a gap between them. "We do not know what we will find here. You would risk your entire species to extinction for what could be nothing?"

"Are we not already on that path, Kal?" Farr'Zorah stood straight, the echo of his voice, though from a hologram, seeming to reverberate across the room. "If we must go back, we return only to a familiar point—not anything else. Our home is not Citadel Space nor can it be the Rannoch we envision endlessly in our dreams. If we are to survive as a species, then we have to be willing to perish."

There was silence. An analog clock, a relic of the Dannas holding considerable power over worlds, ticked behind Zoli'Danna, seeming to drown out the stillness of the moment. Despite what the quarian elite thought about her, she did not want to be an admiral—she didn't even want to be captain. She had no use for power; all she wanted was for a planet to settle down in and raise her child on, a home to rest her feet and feel the breeze with. That was all she wished for. A home. She looked at the admirals and her siblings, and knew that that was what they wanted to. It could be the homeworld, or it couldn't be. _Home was home, wasn't it?_

"…I do not want to die in the unknown, Farr; I do not want Rena and Shala that possibility as well; and I am sure you don't wish that on Teva and little Rael as well." Kal'Raan's modulator beeped after a moment, fingers rubbing against his palms. "I am aware that the Council would soon rather give the volus a Council Seat than help us in reclaiming our _walled garden_ —Rannoch—but what else can we do about that? At least in known space, we've a better chance at finding home."

"The Council would never allow that." Jeelo'Xen shook his head, tapping on to his omni-tool until several lines of text appeared in everyone's omni-tools. "They've banned us, as an entire species, in settling worlds—that was the second provision they gave when they _formally_ abandoned the people through the Perseus Agreement. When it comes to scapegoating, the Council's efficiency is astonishing."

Everyone nodded at the Special Projects Admiral's words.

"I think…" Han'Danna clasped his hands in front of him. "Before we decide on whether or not to return or pursue again, we have to meet with this alien delegation. It would be an act of insult to not hear them out when they were gracious enough to send in a delegation to come and speak with us…"

Silence again.

Then, "Should we put it to a vote?" asked Mara'Vael.

Before anyone else could respond, the hologram of the Fleet Admiral stood up shakily from his seat. He was the oldest quarian in all of the Flotilla, having been its enduring pillar for nearly a century and still counting. If the Ancestors willed it, he would be celebrating his 129th birthday in three months. His worn-grey suit was given to him by the Second Fleet Admiral and had markings whose symbolism and significance to the people had long been forgotten.

"By my authority as the Fleet Admiral, I hereby declare a Supreme Imperative."

Old as Admiral Vanir'Reegar was, his words still held immense weight and an underlying, commanding boom that shook the bones of all present, despite not being present physically. A Supreme Imperative held precedence over all else; it was great power but a Fleet Admiral could only issue it thrice; the third time, they would have to step down of the office. This was Vanir'Reegar's third Supreme Imperative.

"The Migrant Fleet _will_ go into talks with this alien power, and we shall listen to what they have to say and we shall plead for our case.

"I have grown old; I was still a babe in my mother's womb when the First Fleet Admiral died. That was one-hundred-and-nineteen years after the people left the homeworld, left the lands with which they had taken root for hundreds of millennia. Perhaps it is the destiny of the people to always travel across the vast, unknowable expanse of the cosmos?

"Our oldest text, _the Passage of the Exiled_ —undoubtedly a mythical account—speaks of our supposed origins: how we were descendants of a spacefaring people who were exiled from their home by an unspeakable evil but were led to Rannoch by the shimmering spirits of their Ancestors.

"Our most powerful nation, before our world was unified, began as a country of exiles espousing the truth of Poros, an ancient prophet who preached of equality and scientific endeavor; the most indelible quote we have of hers is the adage, 'The wise one brings their home inside their heart.' It speaks clearly and concisely of what we were, and still are, as a people.

"Our first step into space was the result of exiles looking for a place to claim as their own. The Velenthii took to the stars because they were shunned for their superior technological prowess; and thus, sought to embrace the beyond as their home, knowing full well that there were unimaginable dangers out here.

"And now, here we are again, the sun rises always over Rannoch and we are still looking for refuge. Look through our histories: the people have always been in exile, whether it be physically, mentally or spiritually. It seems to be ingrained in our blood to be banished from the homes we call our own. And I for one wish to break this cycle.

"We shall claim a home for ourselves, whether it be Rannoch or not!"

FIN


	3. vignette: first steps over a path unseen

Hiram'Reegar ran the length of the settlement of Umbra, reaching the outskirts within half an hour. He looked at the simplistic, egg-shaped buildings of tortollan—or was it Imperial?—design standing firm in the skyline and was in great awe. The entire village was made in under three hours. That kind of speed would make envy burst out of everyone's plates in the Hierarchy Engineer Corps. Every time he thought about the technology and the power needed for such an endeavor, he could not make bow nor stern out of any of it.

But, as a soldier, what Hiram'Reegar was more interested in was the combat capabilities of the tortollans. He didn't go over to the outskirts to just look at the weird shapes of Umbra, he was looking for some training grounds he'd heard from tortollan vendors that were by the woodlands.

 _thunk._

 _thunk._

 _thunk._

The sound of arrows hitting their mark over the distance could be heard repeated.

 _thunk._

Hiram saw a few of the tortollans hefting bows taller than themselves and firing them with the ease of a master. It confused him a bit why an obviously advanced society still used primitive weapons. The last time that bows and arrows saw combat in Rannoch was during the War of Thorns, and that was more than a millennium ago. _They couldn't possibly use it for combat… could they?_

"Lieutenant Reegar?"

He turned around to see a tortollan coming over. He was a large specimen for his species, coming up at his waist and looking almost exactly like a heavily armored volus soldier; there was an insignia of two arrows forming an 'X' on his left shoulder—a mark not present on the other tortollans. He remembered him as being the captain that had initiated First Contact and the one to grant them a permanent place here. He was a man worthy of his Ancestors.

Hiram bowed. "Captain Griz'Om. It is nice to see you here."

"The pleasure is mine, lieutenant." The tortollan's voice was deep and held considerable authority. "What brings you to Wild Arrow Lodge? Thinking of becoming a Hunter yourself?" Griz'Om laughed.

Hiram found him more… eloquent than the others. "…hunter? Are you actually _just_ doing this for recreation then?" It would make sense if they were, but they did not seem to be doing it recreationally.

Captain Griz'Om placed his hands beneath his back and shook his head. "No, being a Hunter is a noble path. ' _T_ _he way of the hunter is one of mastery over the beasts of the world, an unparalleled precision in marksmanship, and the knowledge of how to survive in situations where others would perish._ 'To be a Hunter is no sport, lieutenant."

Hiram coughed, a flash of light from his mouthpiece. "I apologize. It is just… rather rare for bows and arrows to be used with such mastery and duty in our society, or are they still used… even for recreation. Pardon me for asking, but does your civilization not have firearms? Chemical propellants maybe?"

Captain Griz'Om held out an arm and glimmers of light gathered across it, forming into the shape of, to Hiram, a rifle. It was a large gun, two barrels stacked vertically and held by three metal bands with a muzzle etched with geometric shapes and a bayonet attached, a wooden stock with carven spirals—reminding the quarian of krogan aesthetics matched with turian design. _Were this people_ actually _little krogans?_

"We've our share of guns, lieutenant. It's just most prefer bows. I for one am very fond of _Miracle_ here, an antique—very rare." He held the rifle properly, hand on the muzzle, the other on the stock. He aimed it at a target at the distance, one that was thoroughly embedded with arrows, and shot, a bolt of blue light emerging from one of the barrels. "She has saved me countless times"–a quarter of the target sign was blown off–"when I was trekking through the Stranglethorn Vale, climbing the Storm Peaks, and just recently when I became a lodge master. Umbra is the first tortollan colony and also the first colony outside of Azeroth since the draenei and man'ari were just eredar on Argus! It is fitting that one from the Unseen Path leads this place."

Hiram was staring at the rifle, looking at the action, wanting to know how its internal mechanisms worked. "So, this Unseen Path is the expeditionary arm of your government?"

"Which government?" The tortollan laughed while Miracle disassembled into tiny cubes of light and vanished somewhere on his person. "The Amity is only just beginning to venture outside of its own world; the Horde and the Alliance are too busy competing against one another in contested space; and the Imperial Senate cannot stop for a moment to get their collective heads out of their asses! No, the Unseen Path answers only to the Council of Aspects, but we are no expeditionary arm—although we sometimes are, for we embody the ideals of the Hunter's path: boldness, ferocity and determination. ' _We are the watchers in the wild. We are the eagle on the wind._ ' And all that."

The quarian was silent for a moment, saddened that the weapon had vanished. "So, you do not belong to a unified polity?"

Griz'Om shook his head. "There are unaffiliated governments, yes; more enemies than allies, but the Imperium _is_ the largest and most powerful in our sector of the galaxy—only that its system of authority is more mystifying than the continued existence of tauren Rogues. But enough of that; you'll learn of it as time passes."

Hiram nodded and turned to look at the rugged peaks outside of Umbra, where emerald seas of leaves rustled with the passing breeze and whispered secrets unknown still. _Prowl and fly…_ The Hunter's path appealed to him very much; but what would it even entail? What would it cost him?

"Do you feel it, lieutenant? The world, the very universe, is calling out to us, but only a few ever hear it."

The quarian closed his eyes, trying to sense what the tortollan had meant. There was nothing at first, but then the beat of his heart quickened and there was a clear drumming in his ears. He felt his blood boil with excitement, and his skin prickle with anticipation. _Descend from the stars, child_ , he could hear, _and become one again with the wild. Become unfettered from the shackles you've made for yourself and embrace freedom…_

Hiram looked to Captain Griz'Om, but the captain only stared at the wilds.

"Have I gone mad?"

"Every star, every world, every moon, every rock and dust, even the cold and dark of space is alive," the tortollan said after a moment. "They only speak to us in moments—unless you are shaman or druid—but nevertheless their whispers are what drive us all to nature, to explore, to see what there is to be seen, to hear what there is to be heard and to feel what is there to be felt… And to be a Hunter is to do all those things."

Hiram stretched his fingers and slowly closed them. "Can a quarian become a hunter?"

Captain Griz'Om chuckled. "Anyone can become a hunter. It's quite easy, really. But if you want to be a _Hunter_ , then that's a whole other story. Because despite our attunement with nature, there are things we cannot do without aid, you see."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, gone are the days of hoping that someone has natural affinity when it comes to anything—except for magic. Magic's always a hard thing to look for, even in this day and age. Today, there are augmentations. You've to be augmented if you _want_ to be a Hunter."

"So, I can't be a hunter?"

"We'll train you with the basics first and see how it goes. How about that?"

Hiram found himself nodding and as he did, he felt the world pulse beneath his feet and the winds calling out to him.

FIN


	4. vignette: a bowl of fish chowder

While I was passing through the industrial sector of the newly made Umbra, I was stopped by an aroma that penetrated my nose and no filter I'd installed could fight it off. The scent dragged me towards a stand attached to the only functioning, manned foundry in the whole settlement—the others were waiting for more specialized personnel to arrive.

A larger-than-average tortollan was behind the stall, gesturing a hand in front of a cauldron in circular movements with fingertips glowing green. The sounds of metal being pummeled, machinery whirring and singing, resounded from the foundry looming at the back.

"Excuse me, but what are you cooking?" I asked, walking near. "You _are_ cooking, right?"

The tortollan stopped staring intently at the cauldron and brought his face up. Like every one of the species, he was wearing a dark-grey full-body suit, white streaks running down the limbs and head. "Quarian?" I gave him a nod. "Of course, you are. Not anyone else"–it spoke like a quarian huffing helium–"here except for you and us! And I don't need look up if you're tortollan. What help can I give you? You smell maybe loch frenzy delight? Good for the belly, good for most bellies."

"I apologize." I waved a hand, looking at the uncovered cauldron. "I could not resist the smell. I only wanted to look at what it was."

What was churning inside the cauldron was a lot like some thick soup but with green leaves and some visible remnants of spices floating on the surface. At the center was the cleanly sliced meat of some animal, a fish perhaps glaring at me as if it was urging me to take a taste. Odd.

The little alien jerked back his head, seeming offended. "You only want to look and smell, not eat?"

I waved my hands slightly. "I'd like to buy, but all I have are Citadel credits and nothing else, I doubt that has value to you"–I laughed–"and even if I could afford it, I—the quarians have a very weak immune system and we are a dextro-based people. We don't know what effects it could have if any from our species were to eat this"–I allowed the fresh steam from the pot to flood my breather, attempting to drown me–"treasure to the olfactory senses. It could be as harmless as a slight itch; or it could be as deadly as an organ bursting internally."

The tortollan only stared at me. "So, you not eat?"

I stared back, dumbfounded. "I just told you I can't."

"That no reason not to eat."

The smell tingled my nose. My sense of smell was almost suffused entirely with it now. "Perhaps… perhaps just a little?"

The tortollan bent down and opened a compartment behind his stall, taking out a porcelain bowl and a spoon. He also took out a ladle and, with it, poured soup into the bowl. He flickered his fingers over it and the soup glowed green before resuming its color. "On house."

"What did you do?" I asked, though the alluring scent was still there, unchanged.

"Made it so you could eat it," answered the tortollan simply, handing out the bowl, now covered, to me.

My eyes narrowed behind my mask as I took the still warm bowl. "You mean to say that you made it dextro? H-how?" I brought the soup close to my face. There was a tiny hint in the aroma now, making it more enticing. It smelled like something from my dreams. My dreams of Rannoch.

"Cooking magic. Don't know details but allows you to eat with no fear." The tortollan resumed to his cooking, cooling the fire down. "Learned it from expert cook while passing through Durotar system."

Still confused, I turned around with bowl in hand. It wasn't the supposed 'magic' that the little alien did, but more the fact that it was free. _Bosh'tet_ , I don't have an induction port anywhere on me. I needed to get one as fast as possible and run back to Little Rannoch.

"Guys!" I ran up to my friends when I saw them huddled around a low table outside a housing building. "You won't believe what I got!" I carefully clutched the bowl close to my chest. I did not care that it was hot.

Anwa'Mekk turned her head, white and blue cowl fluttering with a passing wind. She adjusted her Shawl of Youth. "Ysin, how was your recon? Found anything good?"

Orange-suited Forzan'Orn and purple-masked Keenah'Breizh looked up from their game of _sarrach_ and gave me a brief nod before going back to their game. By how it sounded, it was a very intense session between the two, which was always. The four of us were the only ones in the _Uriyah_ that hadn't done their Pilgrimages yet and were usually relegated to odd jobs like cleaning the floors and counting spare parts, so we didn't have much to do.

"Didn't you go anywhere?" I asked Anwa who was eyeing me warily, elbows close to her waist, thighs shut. Did I look like some _bosh'tet_ leering at her?

Anwa shook her head. "My parents are examining the material of the buildings, says it's not like anything a quarian has ever seen before, not even in the time of Rannoch. Didn't want me out their sights. Where'd _you_ go?"

I stood still for a moment. "What happened?"

The other quarian cocked her head, body stiffening more. "What? Nothing…"

"She's just jealous you didn't ask her to go with you while you were out scampering Ancestors know…" said either Forzan or Keenah. You never know between the two sometimes.

Anwa turned her head to the pair, the glow of her eyes clear through her headpiece. "I think someone wants their suit breached or something." There was an edge to her voice.

I smiled behind my visor and gently opened the lid of the bowl, the ferociously delicious smell of the loch frenzy delight invading my nose again; and from the fogging masks of the others, theirs as well. They all turned their heads to look at the bowl in my hands.

"What _is_ that?" asked Forzan.

I walked over, closer to them, and gently placed the bowl of hot, steaming soup in the middle of the table. Keenah didn't even mind that their game of _sarrach_ had been interrupted.

"It's called loch frenzy delight. A tortollan gave it to me for free!"

The others looked at me with confusion. It was unheard of for something to be given free to a quarian. But, "You do know even if that were the case, we can't eat any of their food? Uncle Hilar told me that tortollans are levo-based."

"I know, but he did something to it that I can somehow feel is edible for us."

There was a silence as the other three looked at each other, passing off signals saying that I was going crazy and that I'd been brainwashed or something.

"Look just give me an induction port and I'll tell you if it's bad or not!" I held out a palm, waiting for any of them to give me one. See as they weren't: "Look, like what Captain Nara said when he called us down here, we have to risk it for the people! It's a once in a lifetime opportunity for us!"

Keenah then took out an induction port and handed it to me. I took it.

I sat down in an empty seat near Anwa and dragged the bowl of loch frenzy delight near us. I brought my face close, placed the induction port in the bowl, attached it to my mouthpiece and took a sip. A very creamy taste washed my tongue, alerting my sense of taste into overdrive. Sucking it through an induction port did it no justice. Tasting the thick soup made me wonder how the people had lived through nutrient paste for close to three-hundred years.

"How is it?" Keenah asked. "Are you going to die?"

When I heard the question, I found it irrelevant if I was. Tears flowed out of my eyes, salty drops mixing with the taste of heaven and wonder.

"It's better than anything I've ever tasted!"

FIN


	5. contact 3

**Migrant Star Ship – Tikkun**

 _Keelah_ -class cruiser

Asgard system

Galactic Standard 3rd Month, 15th Day, 2143

Fleet Admiral Vanir'Reegar took a deep breath, the decades catching up to him.

The _Tikkun_ slowed down as it dropped off FTL. After the meeting with the Imperials: he would be stripped of his rank, a new admiral would be sworn in; and then, the Admiralty Board would vote among their number to see who becomes the new Fleet Admiral—depending on the outcome of the meeting, it could either be Raan or the Zorah boy.

He blinked his eyes, adjusting them, after the world bled back from redshift. It would be a few hours until they arrived at Loki, the planet that the tortollans had just colonized. The reports from the _Uriyah_ had astonished him when first he heard it. An entire town constructed in more than two hours? Ancestors, he could not quite believe it himself, but why would the Nara boy lie to him?

"Admiral, ETA on Loki is three hours. The rest of the Flotilla is expected to arrive just shortly. They've been sent coordinates on where to position themselves over the planet. We're implementing the Trade Wall–Volus formation."

"And the Imperials just agreed to that?"

"Yes, although with some slight modifications to allow their ships some space."

The old man slowly lifted his body off the seat. His aides only looked at him. He had told them under no circumstance would they assist him with such trivial things as getting of his seat, walking down the ramp, etc. It was not pride nor arrogance that made him do it, it was stubbornness. He had stood as the Flotilla's lasting pillar for most of his life; and by the Ancestors, he would be one until he died!

"Have the rest of the Admiralty arrived yet?" he asked, bringing his omni-tool up.

"Yes, Fleet Admiral, the _Yaska_ and the _Qwib-Qwib_ were already here before us; the _Terminus_ and the _Neema_ dropped off F-T-L together with us. We're in formation now, heading towards the planet."

Vanir'Reegar nodded. _We will find our salvation._

* * *

 **Level One Zone – Umbra**

Eighth-Tier Colony – _Loki_

Asgard System, Exodus Cluster

Galactic Standard 3rd Month, 15th Day, 2143

Lia'Jaa looked at Umbra. She had seen it get built in real-time just yesterday! Captain Adan'Nara had even called the primary crew and the non-essentials of the _Uriyah_ to help out, twenty-eight all in all, as a gesture of good will; but she found it unnecessary though, as the tortollans had finished the whole place in just a few hours. And it wasn't with prefabrications as well; it had been done entirely from scratch. She wasn't quite clear what happened, but it was like magic—three-story buildings created like the very concept of engineering and construction was just child's play to them.

Shaking her head out of her reverie, she looked to the sky and saw the tens of thousands of ships of the Migrant Fleet floating like a hazy blot in the dawning sky with one patch remaining relatively free. Every quarian, on those ships and on this planet, was waiting for the Imperial delegation to arrive any moment now. The tension was palpable even through their enviro-suits.

"Where've you been?" Hiram'Reegar stood beside her. There was a simple bow slung through his arm now. He had worn it after he went to the outskirts of the town, where Captain Griz'Om stationed himself and was taught the ways of the Hunter. _Whatever that meant_. She was half-afraid the little krogans had indoctrinated him to their religion. "Captain Adan's with the admirals in Tidehunter Hall."

"I was in Devilsaur Square, briefing the other marines about Imperial protocol Car'Od told me." The tortollan had been quite snippy with her. "Car'Od's the chief police officer here."

"Oh," he replied, nodding. "Anything else happen when I was gone?"

Lia'Jaa tilted her head. "Now that you ask, I heard Keen—" She stopped and stared back to the sky. Where once there was nothing, there was now a massive superstructure shaped like a pyramid hovering in orbit. " _Keelah_ , it looks like a capitol building from Sur'Kesh just came to life and is now zooming through the galaxy…"

Hiram'Reegar breathed. _beep. beep._ "That _bosh'tet_ looks like an Ancestors-blessed mountain!"

"Well, the Imperials have arrived," she replied simply.

* * *

 **Timeline of Events**

2143

3rd Month

 _15_ The Admiralty Board meets with the Imperial delegation. Fleet Admiral Vanir'Reegar vas Tikkun pleads on the behalf of the Quarian Conclave, his entire species, for aid. Members of the Imperial delegation, most having once been adventurers journeying across Imperial space, grant them amnesty, resources, a planet and access to their mainstream civilian technology.

 _30_ In later weeks and with the help of Imperial portal technology, the majority of the quarian species settles in one of the sixteen known dextro-based planets in Imperial space, Martag'sorom (Orcish for _forbidden pools_ ), which is now renamed Mala Rannoch ( _walled garden at dawn_ in Khelish) in the Mor'shan system.

As an extension of aid and goodwill, ten Imperial ships are given to the Migrant Fleet.

A third of the vessels of the Migrant Fleet are salvaged for materials to be used in settlements. The rest are repurposed to create a shield around the planet.

The Cenarion Circle takes a vested interest in the weak quarian immune system.

4th Month

 _8_ Fleet Admiral Vanir'Reegar vas Tikkun steps down from his post after more than a century of service. Jano'Gerrel vas Neema replaces him as admiral of the Wanderers' Fleet.

 _12_ The quarian settling of Mala Rannoch is finished, the city of Das'Tikkun in the planet's southern hemisphere is designated as the capital.

 _13_ Under the new Fleet Admiral's administrations, more focus is shifted to strengthening relations with the Imperium.

Admirals Jeelo'Xen vas Alarei and Kal'Raan vas Das'Tikkun are invited to the planet-city of Dalaran for a scientific symposium.

 _23_ The first quarian, Anwa'Mekk nar Owatanka, to have affinity with magic is found. It is noted by members of the Tirisgarde that she lives near an aetherium (colloquially known as mana) vein.

5th Month

 _2_ After several weeks of internal restructuring and legislation, the Quarian Conclave officially becomes the governing body of Mala Rannoch. Farr'Zorah vas Das''Tikkun is elected president with Kal'Raan vas Das'Tikkun acting as the vice-president. With popular support from its citizenry, the Conclave appeals for membership-status with the Imperium.

The Imperium grants the Conclave Grey-Status.

 _3_ Hilar'Koris vas Mala Haestrom is chosen to represent the quarian people in the Imperial Senate.

 _6_ The Lesuss Breach occurs, wherein a few of the colony's occupants escape. The Asari Republics censor most information about the case.

According to a census conducted by the Imperial Census Bureau, less than half of the quarian population now prefer Imperial technology over eezo-based technology, most likely due to the lack of element zero in Imperial space.

 _21_ In an effort to gain another member-species and more power in the Senate, both the Alliance and the Horde shower the quarians with gifts, ranging from minor military technologies to whole ships.

6th Month

 _10_ Scholarship programs, where select quarian individuals are shipped to Imperial academic institutions, are initiated in Mala Rannoch to further integration of quarian society to Imperial custom and society. Most notable of these scholars are Rael'Zorah nar Das'Tikkun, Han'Gerrel nar Ereyya, Zaal'Koris nar Arcturus and Shala'Raan nar Das'Tikkun, all children of high-profile quarians.

 _17_ The makeshift defenses around Mala Rannoch are replaced with Imperial Defense Platforms. Engineers estimate the improvements to be done within the next two months.

 _22_ Tensions rise in the Silithus Cluster and neighboring regions as rumors of a silithid resurgence spreads.

7th Month

 _1_ After four months of investigation, the Council declares the entire quarian species fugitives. This act would placate much of the populace in both Citadel and Terminus space.

 _4_ The Centaur Variance and the Harpy Voleries launch a raid on Mala Rannoch.

* * *

 **Level One Zone – Das'Tikkun**

Fifth-Tier Colony – Mala Rannoch

Mor'shan system, Kalimdor Barrens

Galactic Standard 7th Month, 4th Day, 2145

Dull Telar and Ta'jari were close to the horizon, beginning their ascent over the city of Das'Tikkun and across the somber, orange sky. White, parabolic masses rose over the skyline, along with ancient, ruined spires that gleamed red and grey when the moon's light struck them. There was an eerie silence that stretched all over Mala Rannoch, a portent of something to come, a draenei aid worker had told Han'Reegar when he left his house. It still unnerved and fascinated him, and the rest of the people, how the tailed species were so similar to the people.

He let out a sigh and a beep; like everyone from his species, he still wasn't that accustomed to living on a planet where no-one was out to get him. The young quarian was sitting atop an ancient stone fence, legs brought close to his chest, head resting on his knees and facing the setting sun.

"Han?" a deep gravelly voice spoke from behind.

He lifted his head up and turned to the orc engineer in charge of Mala Rannoch's planet-side defenses—quarian technicians still had a hard time operating larger Imperial machineries, especially ones that involved aetherium. His skin was a lighter shade than most of his species and his fangs more rounded; but he was easily still burlier than any quarian.

"Hey, Mister Galddur."

The orc nodded, dropping his toolbox on the ground. "Shouldn't you be home at this hour?"

Han turned his head and rested it back on his knees. "I don't wanna."

Galddur scratched his head. "And why is that?"

"It's just—"

Then, the sky boomed—it was not a singular sound, but the aggregation of several bursts that converged. In the skies of Mala Rannoch, a hundred silhouettes of blocky starships appeared out of nowhere.

"The centaurs," the orc whispered.

Then, another burst of sound and there were new silhouettes with the others; but sharper and more bird-like.

"Harpies!" Galddur cried before pulling the young quarian off the fence and running back to the city.

FIN


End file.
